


Latency

by Oceanbreeze7



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Awkward Prompto Argentum, BAMF Aranea Highwind, Daemons, Demons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Prompto Spoilers, Hurt Prompto Argentum, Hurt/Comfort, MT Prompto Argentum, Other, Poor Prompto Argentum, Prompto Argentum Needs a Hug, Scourge infected Prompto, Starscourge, Worried Noctis Lucis Caelum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-04-20 10:49:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14259330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oceanbreeze7/pseuds/Oceanbreeze7
Summary: “Latency is the phase in certain viruses’ life cycle where after initial infection, proliferation of virus particles ceases. The viral genome is not fully removed, and as such can reactivate and begin producing large amounts of viral progeny without the host being infected by new outside virus. The virus remains within the host indefinitely.”Prompto probably spent that lesson trying to twirl pencils between his fingers, accidentally sending them flying at Noct who caught them far too easily. After a brief battle using graphite swords, they ended it with the teacher shouting at the two. They’d resume the battle blind, stabbing each other in the thighs without blinking.(Prompto had never thought that something like the Starscourge could be considered a virus.)(Prompto never thought that the wall was keeping it suppressed.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been obsessing over this idea like crazy.  
> I'll add on a second chapter where things get crazy, this is mostly out just to cease my ideas so I can actually get some homework done.  
>  _Poor, poor Prompto._

Prompto knew about diseases and bacteria in the way any standard person did. A cold could be cured with soup, fevers were bad, and warm honey would ward off a throat torn raw from coughing. Any worse, he would go to a doctor. He went to the clinic, made awkward small talk with the cute nurses and got his vaccines.

He knew distantly that there was some sort of problem with drug resistant bacteria, but he only knew that in the distant way he knew which fish were freshwater or saltwater. It never really interested him, it wasn’t something of concern.

When he was in High School, taking the mandatory biology class required for credits, he learned about it. Mixed in somewhere with the far too complex system of helper T and B cells, the one lab where they learned about blood typing and the girl at the station next to him passed out, where he would slip notes in chocobo-scratch to Noct under the desk or stack as many empty cups on his friend’s napping head. He remembered learning something about virus’, sometime after or maybe before a citric acid cycle, or around the time he kept quoting  _ “Powerhouse of the cell, Noct!” _ for almost a week. He didn’t cheat on that test, but in hindsight he probably should have just to save his GPA.

Viruses were tricky, they were little monsters that apparently would never leave once they burrowed in deep. He didn’t remember it, but in his textbook it had mentioned something about  _ “Latency is the phase in certain viruses’ life cycle where after initial infection, proliferation of virus particles ceases. The viral genome is not fully removed, and as such can reactivate and begin producing large amounts of viral progeny without the host being infected by new outside virus. The virus remains within the host indefinitely.” _

Prompto probably spent that lesson trying to twirl pencils between his fingers, accidentally sending them flying at Noct who caught them far too easily. After a brief battle using graphite swords, they ended it with the teacher shouting at the two. They’d resume the battle blind, stabbing each other in the thighs without blinking.

(Prompto had never thought that something like the Starscourge could be considered a virus.)

* * *

Proviral latency was something maybe at some point Prompto could recite, slurring over the vowels in confusion and false confidence as he marked the bubble on a multiple choice test.

_ What is a virus genome that is integrated into the DNA of a host cell, but not yet active? _

Maybe he had studied it? Maybe he had just guessed, it was hard to remember between the late night cramming sessions, Iggy shouting at them for their crappy pizza binging, and too many textbooks to count.

_ ‘Hey Noct, isn’t this uh, proviral thingy the one where it’s like, it stays there for as long as you’re alive?’ _

_ ‘Why should I know? I thought you took notes for me.’ _

_ ‘Well maybe if you didn’t sleep so much you’d be able to help me here!’ _

Prompto barely remembered. He checked the third bubble, and then promptly forgot about it.

* * *

There's times where he remembered sharply that he didn’t belong- that he was different in all the worst ways.

When he showered, eyes blurred and dazed from shampoo and water sneaking in. He’d lift an arm to swipe away the water and flop his hair away from his eyes.

Even with blurred vision, he could see the black, like spilled ink or tar painted on the tan line he always forgot about. Skin as white as Pryna’s fur, never seeing sunlight and  _ tainted  _ with that damn  _ barcode. _

When he was younger he would scrub and scrub until his fingernails were flimsy like chocobo feathers and his wrist was red and bleeding. It would scab, plasma adhering the bracelet to his skin until he’d flex ad crack the scabs and start the cycle all over again. 

He always scarred white, not the thick red or raised purple scars he had seen on Gladio’s chest or arms. Prompto scarred white like snow, even his skin was a reminder.

* * *

There were a few things about Prompto that didn’t add up. He never knew exactly if it was because he was from Niflheim, or if he was a- _ (Monster, daemon, traitor-) _

For one, his eyesight was a puzzle that even his optometrist couldn’t quite fathom. It was rather strange, in a way that he marveled over but shrugged off only an old wizened doctor can.

Prompto didn’t understand the science behind it, apparently there was something funky in his eyes. They would focus strange, inhibited and blurry but sometimes crystal sharp in a way that left him shaky. 

“Absolutely fascinating,” his optometrist confessed, looking intrigued but stressed as he ran behind schedule (Prompto had never seen him stay  _ on  _ schedule), “with the reduced pigmentation of your iris, I’d be satisfied to say you have a level of localized albinism to induce such a photophobic response- you say it doesn’t hurt?”

Prompto shifted uncomfortably. “Sometimes? Just ah, a little headache, but nothing bad!”

The doctor hummed as if Prompto had confirmed his suspicion, “that’s normal. What  _ isn’t  _ is the reduced focus of your retina itself, it’s as if your vision is naturally  _ better  _ in darker surroundings. And that membrane! I’ve never seen traces of a tapetum lucidum in humans, although it’s been speculated in the medical community for years.”

Prompto didn’t know those words so he awkwardly laughed it off, and reminded the man of his other waiting patients. When Prompto got home, he googled it and looked at dozens of pictures of cats with glowing green eyes at night. Prompto knew that his glowed slightly, he didn’t know that wasn’t normal.

He changed doctors the next day, and changed his contact information. Noct was a bit annoyed with the different phone number, but didn’t ask any questions.

* * *

He had noticed more changes, things he never mentioned to anyone else. Small secrets of his own skin and bone he’d take to the grave.

No matter how deep he’d clawed into the code on his wrist, until he thought he’d scream and drool snot and tears almost as much as the blood that leaked out of him- the wound would close with snow white scars and the barcode was stark black, like an overdue essay on printer paper.

He burned in the sunlight, great peeling burns that ached and tingled and left him moaning into a pillow in frustration. Noctis had panicked the first time he saw the sunburn, large chunks of skin falling off like he was a snake growing bloated. Noct had tentatively given him lotion, a brand from Altissia or Tenebrae with a name too exotic for Prompto to pronounce. It was likely worth more than his entire weekly allowance.

One vacation at a lake, Prompto had sat on the dock and watched his friend fish for hours. The sunlight sparkled off the water for hours until his eyes watered and his head pulsed in agony but he still smiled and enthusiastically cheered on as Noct wrestled a slimy fish off his hook. When they had found shelter inside, lounging on blankets and pillows hurled on the floor, Noct watched in  _ horror  _ as Prompto absentmindedly picked and tugged at the paper thin skin and black scabs that had formed on the inside of his nostrils. He bled for a few minutes, sniffling wetly as he played on his phone without noticing.

“Dude.” Noctis gaped, blinking quickly as if he had dreamed it, “did- what kind of bloody nose is  _ that?” _

“What?” Prompto squawked, limbs flailing in surprise as he ran his arm against his nose, “Dude, dude no it’s just a sunburn.”

“Inside your  _ nose?” _

Prompto looked at him as if Noct was the bizarre one, “Yeah? It happens man, I told you about my sunscreen empire. One day it’ll take down  _ yours.” _

(Prompto didn’t ever bring up the fact that when he got back to his house, there were a dozen aloe plants growing in his windows.)

* * *

 

Prompto used pliers for his fingernails. The special type, with a name he didn’t know and was too embarrassed to ask about when he was in the tool store. Buying pliers with a thick steel edge and sandpaper that felt like coarse gravel. The checkout lady didn’t care, didn’t even look at him.

At night he clipped through them as if he was cutting Popsicle sticks, the hollow  _ thunk  _ as finally, nails splintered to blunt sharp edges. The sandpaper made his nails turn to dust, something putrid and suffocating as he sanded and  _ sanded. _

His fingers bled and his nails were so short someone teased him for biting them to nothing.

* * *

He hated the cold, the way it would bite through his clothing and surround him, raising goose-flesh and hairs on his arms.

He would wear coats and layers and scarfs and mittens because somehow- somewhere deep on an instinctual level, he was much more comfortable in the cold than in the heat.

He would wear coats and jackets and steal Noct’s cut-off gloves until he could feel sweat roll down his back, and he would put on a hat still.

* * *

Prompto hated guns.

He hated them like some people hated snakes or mice, how they would flinch back and their face would already distort in a protesting sound.

He hated how something under his skin  _ itched  _ to take it and check the ammo, to click the safety and disassemble and reassemble in record time as if instinct drilled so far deep he practically breathed it.

The target was far too easy to see, the blur of everyday eyesight receded and all that was left was the thrumming  _ target found...steady...target acquired- _

“You’re not that bad,” Cor had grunted, looking only slightly skeptic. The gun muzzle smoked, a smell of gunfire and the numbness of the kickback so foreign yet familiar it made Prompto nauseated.

“Heh, thanks.” he weakly responded, arm trembling and safety activated. Something inside whispered wordlessly  _ standby. _

He was doing this for Noct, he  _ could do this for Noct. _

* * *

In training they showed videos, grainy distorted films splattered with rain or mud across the lens. It didn’t matter, even thought Prompto pouted at the poor cameraman who was in charge. 

The contents of the film were strange, garish beasts that bubbled and growled sounds that sent chills down Prompto’s spine.

“These are daemons,” Cor instructed coldly, looking over the recruits to see if any were unsettled by the disgusting monstrosities on the screen.

They were unsettling, frothing with something sick and putrid and smoke like around the edges. Their eyes blank and vacant, fogged as if blind but still very much aware. They whispered on the screen, hoarse sounds vying on the edge of illegible, screams for food and hunger and to  _ make it stop it hurts stop let me eat you hungry stop STOP. _

Prompto wondered the rest of the day why the others hadn’t flinched at the grotesque sounds, the moaning cries interspersed with savage gleeful cackling. At night, when his house was black and empty and he could see better than in the day, he realized on he had heard the voices.

He scratched his arm until it welled and  _ bled,  _ this time, it looked black in the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where things get worse and Prompto's skin burns.

He said it was because of the video games. The late nights that spanned well into the morning, where he and Noct would stare at the TV screen until their eyes were glazed like Iggy’s cinnamon rolls and bloodshot like pomegranates.

Noct didn’t own any of the fancy equipment that the arcades had, just a run down console, controllers saturated in palm sweat. The arcade had the real games, large behemoths models of motorbikes that always jerked to the left, platforms ready for shoes to  _ Stomp-The-Hobgoblin! _ , plastic rifles with cracked casings aimed at fluorescent digital Dualhorns. 

Noct had always favored the racing games, leaping behind the plastic steering wheel as if he didn’t own something fancier- something faster and better in oiled leather and tuned output. Noct never really talked about it, the few times he did he complained that Ignis wouldn’t let him drive as reckless as he could at the arcade. There was a difference, between stomping on manufactured accelerator pedals and the breaks behind an actual car. An indescribable  _ gap,  _ something that videogames could never quite…. _ get. _

Noct gave him the doubt, or maybe he hadn’t realized it himself.

Prompto inhaled through his nose, holding a rifle along his jawline. His fingers smelled like copper, from the arcade tokens or maybe something else.

(He pulled the trigger. The Dualhorn screamed.)

* * *

Back in training, before the Wall fell and everything seemed so much  _ happier,  _ Prompto had snuck inside the Crownsguard training field.

Well, he hadn’t snuck in, he was welcome there. He was one of them (and it felt so  _ wrong, _ ) so he had every right to be there.

It was lit by starlight, glowing faintly like snowflakes in the sky and yet Prompto’s gait never hitched. It was bright, illuminated, cold and quiet. He hated it.

The training yards so early in the day were always vacant, abandoned even by the most obsessive of guards ( _ Gladio).  _ It wasn’t common to see anyone, and Prompto would see them long before they saw him.

Except this time, the man sitting on the steps to the sand filled arena wasn’t hiding. He was reclined in a relaxed yet taut stance, one hand open lazily as flames licked his palm like a satisfied dog.

Prompto paused, skittering on the balls of his feet as he fretted. He wanted practice, he  _ needed  _ to practice yet would he be intruding? He didn’t want to upset this man ( _ he’s better than me, everyone gets training field before I do- _ )

“You going to come over here or am I going to have to throw this at you?” The man asked, voice in a long drawl as if the concept of throwing magic was something casual,  _ normal. _

“I-” Prompto squeaked, feeling ready to bolt even though he had the advantage of the night. 

The man laughed, throwing his head back to stare upwards at the night sky. He rolled his fingers leisurely, the fire twisted and pulsed rhythmically like a heart.

“Relax, just teasing.” The man soothed, not bothering to look away from the stars, “Crownsguard, right?”

“Er-” Prompto felt winded, he nodded hastily before realizing it was too dark for the man to see. “Yes! I mean, I’m on Crownsguard, er, I mean I just joined but uh I’m on it! Well, unless there’s initiation that I haven’t done yet-”

“Wow, you  _ are  _ new.” The stranger remarked bluntly, cutting off Prompto’s nervous babble, “Come’re, what are you doing out so late anyway?’

Prompto knew better than to ask why the stranger was out that late also, “Oh ah, just some...training.”

The words felt stilted, limp and awkward like they were forced out of a wooden mold. Splintered and raw on the edges, hairline scratches in each vowel.

The man raised an eyebrow, his mouth quirking the slightest bit into an amused expression, “Really? Most recruits like to practice in the day, you know. Nobody here to drag your ass to medical if you slice off a finger.”

Prompto twitched, “I, uh... I’m careful.”

He snorted, sitting upright and squinting into the dark, past the light of his fire. Prompto jumpily approached a bit closer, enough that he could be discerned from shadows.

“Oh, I know you.” The man frowned, not looking impressed but not looking annoyed either. He had a scar across his face, small and subtle that threw a shadow much further than daylight ever would. Darkness had a habit of that, emphasizing the most garish features and hiding the most pleasant.

“Sorry,” Prompto weakly apologized, his heat leaping in his throat and urging him to leave, he could stay after group training longer, or run a few miles further. He didn’t need to bother this man-

“You’re Argentum, right?” The man tilted his head, a speck of black under his eye, a line and dot, tribal yet somehow familiar. “Yeah, I saw your file. The Prince thought rather highly of you.”

Prompto wanted to  _ get out of there- _

“I never saw you though, but I guess you must be decent if Cor let you through.” The man (‘ _ Kingsglaive’  _ Prompto concluded in horror,) gave him a thin grin, a warning on his face. “Why are you here?”

He knew who he was, he  _ knew who he was. _

“I- to t-train.” Prompto stuttered, mentally kicking himself at the show, “honest! I just- I know I passed but I- I wanna be better!”

The man tilted his head, turning to look at Prompto dead on. The fire flickered under his chin, distorting his features almost like one of the daemons Prompto saw in pictures and renditions. His eyes were blue, and cold like the Glacian.

“I get that,” his voice was gruff, “let me guess, somebody treating you like shit because your hair’s blonde?”

Prompto twitched, fingers picking at his bracelet in a nervous tick. Finally, Prompto placed the accent, the small specs of black on his face the fire hadn’t scared away. The accent was from Galahd, as a number of the Kingsglaive were. Prompto had heard about the devastation there, the stories and first hand account of the slaughter and the monsters and how the survivors were offered to serve the King himself.

Foreigners, they were treated all the same in Insomnia, no matter the status or rank.

“Yeah.” Prompto croaked out, feeling very small under the immigrants hard ungiving gaze.

“Well, I’d drink to that.”

* * *

(The man was nice, in a gruff harsh way that Prompto didn’t mind. Less approachable than Gladio, a dry cutting humor somewhere between Iggy and Noct. He had eyes of something fierce and animal, Prompto pretended he didn’t have the same.)

* * *

The man was something to be feared, but Prompto only learned that after he was so entailed with a tentative fondness that he couldn’t run. Prompto was trapped in the crackling electricity of an exotic coeurl, blue and dangerous but then again, Prompto always had a weakness for dangerous things.

They never talked much, only on occasion did they meet under moonless nights, training silently with the exception of small murmurs. He never asked how Prompto could aim so well, surrounded by nothingness. Prompto never asked how the man would explode into gems, vanishing out of touch like he was never there at all.

One night under the light of a dozen torches burning lowly, the man pulled from a sheath of sapphires something long, cold, and black.

“Where did you get that?” Prompto asked him, hoarse and broken.

Nyx didn’t tell him, but something in his eyes looked like pain and something wounded. “I have a lot of them, stuck them in the King’s armiger but with so many of us, nobody really notices a few extra things.”

Prompto took the metal in his hands, the blade dark grey nearly black on the spine. One edge sharp and straight, the other serrated slightly like a thousand teeth on a puppy. The tip was a straight-back, unlike the drop-points of Lucis weaponry.

“Lucis swords aint for me,” Nyx shrugged, his kukari’s were famous after all, “thought I’d offer.”

Prompto choked.  _ I’m Lucis!  _ He wanted to scream. He wanted to claw at his scalp and tear out the blonde strands until his scalp was red and like  _ orange pulp.  _

He didn’t, and hoisted the cold metal sword in one hand. It was uncomfortable, sickening, mass produced, and clicked in the back of his brain in a way no other blades had.

He set it down, ignoring Nyx’s calculating look.

“I think I’ll stick to guns, thanks.” He brushed off weakly, running one hand through his hair.

“I’ve got a few of those also.” Nyx added casually, as if his words weren’t something devastating. “Took them from the MT’s also.”

Nyx Ulric, the killer of monsters and hero of the Kingsglaive.

(It felt so... _ good _ , in a macabre sense, that he would be the one to wound him so painfully.)

* * *

Prompto wondered what was considered to be self harm.

When he was in High School, he was required to see a therapist to stay on his medication. It was to help him pay attention, to not get distracted by dogs outside and remember to finish his essays and carry over the zero. To have his meds he needed monthly counseling, where he sat on a stiff backed chair and awkwardly mumbled through small talk. His leg twitched like a fish on a hook.

He knew what things to say, and what things to  _ not  _ say. Even if he was a minor, some things he could never utter even when he was home alone hunched over a bowl of salad watching television reruns into the morning. Some things he would _ never  _ speak, too dangerous to write even in the fog on his mirror after a scalding shower. 

He had searched for what the  _ NH  _ could mean on the branding of his soul, what the initials could possible imply.  _ NH, Not-Human. _

He couldn’t scream, so he ran and  _ ran  _ until his muscles screamed for him. He would smile and babble until what he wanted to say was the only thing left unsaid. He would practice in the daylight, firing bullets with a single minded intensity where every shot from the barrel was a confession whispered in the air.

_ Bam. _

_ I’m a monster, Noct. _

_ Bam. _

_ I was stolen apparently, but I still remember some things. _

_ Bam. _

_ Sometimes I get these seconds where I’m standing too stiff, or wait for something to be said. _

_ Bam _

_ I don’t know what it is. _

_ Bam _

_ I’m afraid how guns fit so well in my hands, I was made to hold them. _

_ Bam. _

_ I was made to kill you, buddy. _

* * *

He had his wrist inked. A small place, tucked behind a run down store that likely would fail all its health inspections. Nyx told him the name, assured him under his breath that the artist wouldn’t ask questions. The man wouldn’t blink, would bat an eye as he prepared the needle and jar of ink with steady hands. The artist wouldn’t comment, even as he dug needle into flesh slowly again and again, down Nyx’s finger, up his thigh, under his eye, and after truly horrible fights- the inside of his lip. It would fade, slowly, before once again corpses were strewn across stone and grass and Nyx would return, awaiting ink in his flesh.

A reminder, one that was said to be permanent ( _ lies). _

Prompto didn’t want it to be temporary.

The artist worked slowly, sterilizing his needle over flame until it glowed red and cooled in the air. The ink sat in its small glass cup, as dark as tar.

One prick, two pricks, so many until Prompto’s hand was numb and the thinest black line arched over his skin, around the protrusion of his ulna. 

_ “You sure?”  _ the artist had asked, just once, as if disinterested in what Prompto would say.

Nyx stood in the back, out of uniform and looking bored and as pensive as ever. 

It would be the last time Prompto hung out with the man. He couldn’t find it in his stomach to continue the strange acquaintance they had formed. 

(He knew that Nyx knew this as well.)

_ “Yeah,”  _ Prompto breathed back, shaky with resolution. He had offered his left arm, had offered pale freckled skin as if the unmarked flesh would repent for the stain on the other.

(He watched the barbed wire twist around his wrist, digging into his blood and every movement he’d do. A star, as if that itself could change the monster he knew he was.)

* * *

Insomnia fell.

The wall fell.

And then, Prompto began to also.

* * *

He burned, his skin stung as if nettles burrowed into his arms. Noct remembered of course, ever since he had watched Prompto peel like a carp’s scales removed with a filleting knife. He packed sunscreen, high strength in various applications. Prompto thanked him immensely, purchased sunglasses so gaudy Iggy had cracked a smile, and settled himself to watching his skin turn pink and tight.

It did, freckles bloomed across his body like grass growing after a fresh rain. His friends teased him, help slather him with cream until he felt more greasy than the burgers he and Noct used to gorge on. Prompto burned, and healed, and burned again. The sunlight hurt his eyes, prickled in his skull like claws digging deeper and  _ deeper _ . It made his ears ring, tears well and mess with his contacts. 

At night in the washroom when they were lucky enough to have one, he’d scrub and scrub with cheap bar soap and watch his skin slide off. White and cloudy, thicker than most peeling sunburns. Tan skin, ready to burn again.

* * *

Prompto hated and liked the havens, the nights they camped under the stars.

Unlike the others (no matter how well they hid it), he wasn’t afraid of the night. He didn’t have the fear of the dark, or the single unseen thing looming in the corner of his eye. To him it was daylight, it was clarity and the sick sense of glee  _ ‘Hey Noct! I’m not useless! I can keep watch!’ _

(He never did keep watch.)

At nights when he couldn’t sleep, childhood insomnia troubling him once more, he would sit outside the tent. He used to tend to the fire, coax it from embers until it burned warmly with the comfort a hearth could provide. He would squint into the distance, try to discern the pack of Sabertusks. 

Eventually, as the days and nights morphed into  _ ‘time that has passed’,  _ he drew closer to the fire. He didn’t bother feeding it to life anymore, didn’t bother to try and trick himself with the illusion of warmth and security.

He could see better without it distracting him, without the glare that made his eyes twinge. 

It didn’t matter anymore that it made him sick, that the fact he could  _ see  _ so much further made him feel more disgusted with himself. He had to protect Noct, staying up in the night would do that, he would help his best friend.

( _ I can help in a way the others can’t.) _

* * *

He heard the whispers in person, except this time they were real.

He couldn’t despite the fact that the sounds, the  _ words  _ coming from the scourge ridden  _ monster  _ were words. Pleas mixed with slurred insults, shrieks that it would kill them alternating with whispered sounds of mercy.

It fell under Gladio’s sword, gurgling wetly from its throat as black tar oozed from its eyes and nose. It evaporated, hissing into dark miasma that flickered through the air like smoke. 

Nothing was left, no corpse or blood or proof it had existed to begin with.

* * *

Prompto dug out ticks, hard and rounded burrowed deep against his scalp, biting between strands of hair. He had hissed, scratching at the firm keratin shell until he heard it crunch under his fingers. It was slimy wet, like Iggy’s cooking grease. It glistened in the campfire, black and opalescent like an oil spill.

“What you got there?” Gladio grunted, not looking over the pages of his novel.

Prompto blinked slowly once, the black slime was gone.

(Had it ever been there?)

“Just a new update on King’s Knight.” Prompto responded weakly. 

* * *

Noct scared Prompto sometimes. He would never admit it, it wasn’t an attractive quality to be terrified of your best friend.

Sometimes on the battlefield, Noct’s expression would change. He would turn into something savage, expression drawn into something ethereal. His eyes would glow, tained something unearthly. The ground would thrum and fire would spill out like a Cerberus was unleashed from his very hand.

Prompto knew what warping was, the way his friend would lag and stall before appearing impossibly far away. An unstoppable force, a creature too powerful to be constrained by time. 

Afterwards, when blood and gore and entrails of their hunt splashed across his friends face, Prompto would pause the smallest second. 

To look at his friend, to see the way his hair was matted and clothes clung awkwardly from dampness that did not belong to him. Prompto would pause, and look at his friend as a foe and realize quietly that his death would be assured if he lifted the band tied around his wrist.

The power of the crystal’s magic was not kind, it burned and stung like wasps piercing his neck and shoulders. Haven’s burned in a way he had grown used to, the crystal telling him  _ you don’t belong here. _

Once he looked at Noct down the line of his scope, pulling him into his crosshairs with terrifying accuracy.

Despite that, he knew if he pulled the trigger Prompto would still be the one to die.

(Nyx trained Prompto on how to hold off a warp capable target. Not long enough to survive, but perhaps long enough to beg for mercy.)

* * *

MT’s hunted them, at one point they were actually dangerous. 

Now, the low rumble of an approaching ship only made Noct groan, squinting into the sun with a scowl as to his afternoon nap being interrupted. They would pause, walk to the dropsite while discussing dinner for that day, and draw swords with preparation to slaughter.

When they started their journey, Prompto only had one gun. By now, he had a half dozen, stored in the Armiger with bullets he found off corpses of his- 

Noct laughed, taunting Gladio to fling him through the air like a spear. Ignis joined in the chatter, Gladio offered a bet. The MT’s were screaming.

One was lined up in Prompto’s sights, staring at him from behind the armor. It didn’t move, Prompto didn’t move.

Prompto had refused to touch the Nif sword Nyx gave him, the mirror to the sword lined up in his sights.

Was Prompto supposed to be a swordsman? A rifleman? Was he intended for something different?

“Prom!” Noct shouted, laughter in his voice as he cartwheeled through the air, pausing before breaking into a thousand diamonds.

The MT screamed in a noise only Prompto could hear, black blood dripping from Noct’s blade piercing through its torso.

It melted, evaporating in a thick black miasma, flickering purple a few shade’s off from Prompto’s eyes.

“You good?” Noct asked, cocking his head curiously as Prompto swallowed back bile.

(If he was run through, would he melt away also? Would he evaporate and leave behind nothing to bury?)

(Would anyone even bury him?)

“Fine,” Prompto smiled weakly, “You looked awesome man! I should have taken a shot of you in the air- think Gladio would chuck you again?”

(If Prompto died, it would prove that he was  _ nothing.) _

* * *

__

Fociaugh Hollow. Dark, gloomy, roughly carved from rock that extends deep into the ground. 

Bats exploded out from passageways, a swarm of screeching noises that although he could see- the movements were disorienting and left him a bit freaked out.

Prompto didn’t like tight spaces, he didn’t  _ like  _ how they had to wiggle through the faces of rock, shoulders scraping and knees clicking. 

They couldn’t find the pathway, where it was disguised against granite and next to sand. The flashlights clipped to their jackets were useful, but it left Prompto squinting through the haze. Dust suspended in the air, illuminated like fog wherever he turned.

“Hey guys,” Prompto spoke after Gladio passed over the passage for the  _ third  _ time, “I uh, I think I found something!”

“Alright, good job, Prom.” Noct smiled, ducking past him and through the passage with hands outstretched to feel the walls. It must have been pretty well hidden.

He heard the thrumming, the deep bass whispers that were so low Prompto could almost  _ feel  _ them. They rumbled through the air, like the Regalia’s engine, like a mutilated hum.

“Guys-” Prompto whined out, trying to peer around Ignis’ side into the darkness ahead of them, trying to pick out the shapeless forms that bubbled in the shadows. 

“What?” Gladio huffed, cracking his neck and trailing one hand along the nearest wall. “Don’t tell me you’re getting  _ scared?” _

_ “S-s-s-sc-”  _ something whispered, the deep rumbling bass ever closer.

“What! No!” Prompto defended, voice too high pitch to really hide his worry, “I- I just got a bad feeling about this!”

Ignis exhaled in a small huff, one that Prompto knew was endearing, “I suggest Prompto is right, we best be on our guard.”

Prompto’s eyes flickered along the walls, seeing past the stalactites and stalagmites through every shadow and every crevice. He could see the pathway, and how it sloped downwards sharply just ahead. The rumbles were down the slope.

Something louder, a higher pitched noise like a goose caught off guard, at least Prompto knew those noises to be Imps.

“Guys?” Prompto squeaked, shifting nervously and resisting the urge to draw his gun. If he missed a shot, the ricochet off the walls would be dangerous for everyone.

“Wait,” Gladio lifted an arm, pausing before drawing his sword from a shower of sparks, “I hear-”

_ “F-food! Yes-s!”  _ the Imp screamed, and from that noise a dozen skittered from the walls like angry spiders. Prompto couldn’t shoot them, not with the passage so narrow. With Noct’s short brutish warping, it was likely he’d be struck. Prompto helped the best he could, keeping an imp in the direct beam of his flashlight for Ignis to pick off cleanly.

And if Prompto subtly led them to the single narrow opening in the rock face, well, nobody questioned his eyes. He was their gunner after all.

* * *

Something whispered, loud and breathy like an exhale. The entire  _ tunnel  _ wheezed, the sigh stealing his breath away.

“Guys?” Prompto asked, voice warbling slightly as he glanced behind them worriedly, “wha- what was that sound?”

It rang again as the four peered around, the tunnels whispering and echoing with broken distortions. “My baby…” 

Prompto felt the hairs on his arms raise, his breathing mute in his own ears. His vision focused, as if behind sightlines, and he  _ looked. _

He couldn’t see it, he could  _ hear  _ but he couldn’t  _ see  _ it. 

_ “My baby,”  _ it moaned sadly,  _ “w- _ where?”

They looked around again, turned towards the direction they had come from.

Something grabbed Prompto’s leg and  _ pulled. _

He couldn’t help it, he screamed and found himself being dragged across rock and through dust by something unrelenting, picking up speed and continuing pained wheezes- flashes of deep green mottled with something gold.

Scales, they were  _ scales. _

_ “Mine.”  _ it crooned, moving faster than any snake Prompto ever knew, dragging him so fast he could barely get his bearings. 

“I’m not!” Prompto argued, nearly biting through his tongue when he jerked over one lumpy pebble.

He could hear his friends shouting for him, slowly getting further as he was dragged down and  _ down _ .

_ “Mine,”  _ it urged again, sounding asthmatic,  _ “My baby.”  _

“I am not!” Prompto shrieked, entire body trembling. Nausea was turning his stomach into a cesspool, “I- I’m not! Please! Let me go!”

It turned, and Prompto nearly  _ screamed  _ at the distorted head gazing at him, milky eyes squinting at the boy in her tail,  _ “baby?” _

“I’m not! Please!” Prompto begged, feeling tears well in the corner of his eyes, “I-I’m Prompto! Let me go!” 

It pulled its head closer, large teeth and dozens of smaller slimy looking serpents twisting around its scalp, reeking of something dead.  _ “My baby-” _

Prompto opened his mouth to scream at it- something around the back of his throat moved. A flap, or maybe his uvula finally had it from all his screaming. He wailed  _ “I am not you baby!” _

The naga flinched away, releasing him instantly as its sightless eyes widened in surprise but very clear comprehension.

This time, Prompto did vomit all over the stone.

“Prompto! Are you okay?” Gladio shouted, somewhere behind him and above him. They had found a way inside- his eyesight was too blurry to check where they had found the way in.

“No!” Prompto shouted back, not even self conscious of how his voice cracked, “I- I am  _ not _ okay! This place is literally the worst!”

The naga blinked slowly, then with a daemonic twist it was descending through the bedrock, gnashing stone to powder.

“Why did it have to be a snake?” He wailed, feeling nearly hysterical, snot dripping from his nose, “That  _ thing  _ dragged me all the way over here!”

The naga reemerged, curling up until its massive skull was only  _ inches  _ from Prompto. He screamed, scrambling back away from it’s rancid breath.

_ “Find,”  _ it wheezed,  _ “find my baby?” _

Prompto heard the thrumming sound of Noct warping, and the clang of metal on bones.

“I- I don’t know where it is.” Prompto tried to protest, shaking from where he was sprawled on the ground, “I- I don’t know!”

The naga curled itself closer, looking over him in a crude rendition of a inquirious woman, “ _ My baby?” _

Prompto opened his mouth, swallowed and felt something in his neck  _ move, “I don’t know! I don’t know where your baby is!” _

The naga pulled back slightly, and tilted its swollen face sideways. A garish sickly sight, insult to the way Pyrna did that years ago.

_ “Yes,”  _ it agreed bluntly,  _ “help find.” _

Prompto’s breathing was loud in his ears.

“Prompto!”

And suddenly, the naga was screaming and flung way from him, smacking against stalagmites and sending them to the floor.

“H-hey man.” Prompto shakily offered, leaning heavily on Ignis as hands grabbed his shoulders. Gladio took a position next to Noct, guarding the other two from the recovering creature.

It jerked its head around, rising in the air and hissing lowly. “...where.” it moaned out, opening and closing its maw, gulping air.

“Do something, Noct!” Prompto yelped, shaking so greatly Ignis had to tighten his hold.

Noct looked at him incredulously, “ _ You  _ do something.”

The naga hissed, glancing quickly between the group, “My baby,” It gurgled, somewhere torn between desperation and fury,  _ “Find... _ where is my baby?”

Noct took a step forward, frowning as the naga’s head shifted slightly. Could it actually see them all.

“I know where your baby is,” Noct tried, going at it from a peaceful approach.

_ ‘No!’  _ Prompto wanted to shout in horror,  _ ‘No it wants help! Don’t say you have it!’ _

The naga struggled with understanding Prompto, but something about Noct must have gained its focus. It understood clearly what the Prince had said.

“That would mean  _ you  _ took him!” it shrieked, and dove into the ground.

“Crap,” Gladio grunted, looking behind his shoulder at the two of them. Ignis spared a look down at Prompto before pulling one of his daggers at the ready.

“I’m fine,” Prompto assured, taking a few seconds to pull himself together before summoning his gun, feeling the cool metal in his hand. Ignis paused a second longer before nodding, smoothly sliding to his feet and summoning his other dagger.

The naga was fast, faster than they had expected. It was furious, screaming and lashing out as Gladio was thrown once more across the ground.

“There’s no room to swing a sword!” Gladio complained, jaw locked and looking angry.

“Prompto!” Noct shouted, warping just beyond striking distance as the naga lunged at his crystalline echo.

_ “My baby! Where is he! Where is my baby!”  _

Prompto’s hand shook, the naga  _ wailed. _

“Prom!” Noct bellowed again, heaving and panting in exhaustion.

_ “My baby!” _

Prompto’s vision focused, he could see the black tar leaking from the stab wounds around her jaw.

_ Bang. _

“Bring back...my baby…” it gurgled, eyes wide in disbelief as it slumped, fizzing and melting in a purple miasma.

Then, it  _ exploded.  _ An eruption of slime that showered through the air like Gladio’s obnoxious cannonballs when they were washing up. It rained, thick and viscous and matted down clothing with gore.

“Oh,  _ yuck.”  _ Noct’s face wrinkled, swiping the gore from his hair.

Prompto flinched, staring at the slime over his skin in dazed bafflement. It splattered over his face, misted under his eyes like freckles.

It tasted like blood oranges, sweeter than pomegranates.

* * *

Aranea Highwind was something... _ wrong. _

She was beautiful, and the lance she used pulsed red and smelled like cold metal and rust.

Something about her face, her  _ eyes  _ unnerved Prompto. The way they looked at them all, amused, mischievous, twisted in a playful toying way. Prompto felt like she was a behemoth, staring at him in delight.

She was...she smelled wrong, and sometimes when she laughed her voice echoed in a way Prompto wasn’t sure was real. The cage over her head arched above her in such design her very being was a weapon. She was someone to be feared, and she walked like she knew it.

Without Gladio, Prompto wasn’t sure they could take her. He wasn’t sure they’d escape unscathed.

“Come on, four eyes,” Aranea sighed, hoisting her lance over her shoulder like a tail from a dragon. She lolled her head, looking over her shoulder at them lazily. “You coming? Or going to let me and pretty boy take on all the fun?”

Ignis didn’t like her any more than he did, but he treated her with the cold politeness he excelled at. “Of course, It would be unsightly to leave the Prince in just your care.”

“Aren’t you slippery.” Aranea sighed, looking more amused than annoyed.

Prompto didn’t say anything, but he hung back and watched her carefully.

The way she walked was...interesting. A cocky gait that even Gladio didn’t have, she was overconfident but from what Prompto had seen, she was right to be that way.

“Iggy,” Prompto whispered, sliding in close to the taller man, “I  _ really  _ don’t like her.”

Ignis didn’t say anything, but his mouth twitched showing that he agreed.

“What’s the Empire’s deal with Daemons anyways?” Noct asked casually, matching her bored tone.

Prompto flinched, nearly kicking a rock with how his legs twitched. 

Aranea sighed, rolling her eyes although nobody (except him) could see it. “They’re being weaponized.”

Aranea stepped over a rock outcropping smoothly, her heels clicking with each stride.

“What do you mean by that?” Ignis asked bluntly. Prompto felt sick.

“You know MT’s?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder at Ignis.

“Magitech.” Ignis responded blandly.

Aranea’s lip twitched, “Well, now you know where they’re from.”

Aranea’s eyes slid over to him, glancing at him without really paying attention. Her iris’ were subtly different, like Noct when he overexerted himself. Hued maroon around the standard grey.

It was too dark for anyone to see it; if a light was shown in her eyes it would recede with her vision.

Prompto  _ knew  _ those eyes.

“Well,” Aranea blinked slowly, “aren’t you a surprise, cutie.”

Prompto flinched back, Ignis slipped between the two, “I believe we have mythril to find.”

Aranea paused, squinting into the light on Ignis’ shirt before she held one hand up to block the glare, “watch where you’re pointing that, trying to blind me here?”

“Perhaps it would be an improvement.” Noct teased from up ahead, “you’d stick closer then.”

Aranea gave a small laugh, turning around and swaggering back towards Noct. Prompto was right, there was no way she could have possibly seen the cracks in the floor.

* * *

 

The air hissed, a strange wet slurping noise that Prompto hadn’t heard before. It congealed, like gelatin and made him twitch.

“We’ve got company.” Aranea warned, a half second before the daemons solidified, glowing and shapeless.

Prompto pulled his gun, stayed in the back and waited.

“I can do this all day,” Noct teased, warping back and forth with a grin split across his face, “Hah! Not so tough now are you?”

Prompto found himself smiling also, his friend’s excitement was contagious. 

Skeletons rattled with obvious disgruntlement, falling under blades and swords as Prompto stuck back, occasionally firing when necessary.

They had been a bit stalled for a while when the bridges broke, crumbling underfoot and sending them to the floor below. Once ascending again, they were faced with numerous foes that were all too weak to really be a threat. 

When the Iron Giant came from the ground, Aranea had slipped back until she was near Prompto. He heard it moan in a ringing noise, emerging from the dark invisible to all but him.

“Company!” He warned, turning already drawing his gun before the creature fully manifested, “Oh,  _ hello  _ big guy!”

Already Aranea had her lance twirling, deflecting the massive sword from the daemon as Prompto ducked and fired, sniping the beast in its visor. It flinched back, stumbling in the small area.

“Prompto!” Noct shouted, warping point blank to send the creature back again. Prompto’s vision focused, his hearing sharpened and he inhaled smoothly.

His body  _ thrummed,  _ he rolled forward and slid across the stone. Despite the speed and instability of his movements, his hand was unnaturally steady.

“Hello  _ opening!”  _ He grinned, breathlessly cackling and firing a single shot with  _ pinpoint  _ accuracy.

The monster screamed, and Prompto felt himself laugh.

The battle didn’t last long, not when Aranea leapt high and Noct warped  _ off  _ of her, both smashing down on the daemon and reverting it to black slime. He didn’t notice how Aranea stared at him, watching him silently since the first giggle broke from his lungs.

Prompto was sure that the Iron Giant’s black slime would have tasted like blood oranges.

* * *

 

“Blonde’s a good shot,” Aranea hummed casually, sticking back with Ignis as they neared the entrance. 

“Prompto is an exceptional ally.” Ignis stiffly responded.

“Oh?” Aranea asked, quirking one eyebrow and removing her helmet with her hands, “you know him well then?”

“You’d have to ask Prince Noctis.”

“Aw, but it’s much more fun to rile you up.”

* * *

It was still dark when they exited, the bog was muggy and humid. 

“I almost  _ liked  _ the dungeon.” Prompto whined, plopping onto the ground where at least it was still dry.

“It is rather warm, isn’t it?” Ignis sighed, pausing before he too took a seat.

“Surprised you’re not commenting.” Noct glanced at Aranea, keeping his expression rather calm and blank.

“You know Niflheim, I’m a fan of the cold.” Aranea shrugged her shoulders lazily, stretching out before lazily seating herself near the stone supports.

“It shouldn’t be long,” Ignis provided helpfully, “perhaps a few more hours at most.”

“Wonderful,” Noct sighed, slumping sideways to lay on the ground. Prompto knew that in five minutes, he’d likely be fast asleep.

“Well, aren’t I jealous.” Aranea glanced at him before back out over the bog.

“I will keep watch if you prefer,” Ignis offered coldly.

“Uh, don’t worry Iggy!” Prompto chirped in, “I’ve got it! I’m wide awake and ready to outrun a coeurl!”

Ignis didn’t say anything, but he did shift into a more relaxed posture against the wall. They were all exhausted, Gladio being gone was weighing on them all.

“Prompto, eh?” Aranea asked lowly. She took great care not to draw attention to herself.

Prompto stiffened slightly, “Er, yeah. That’s me.”

Aranea slid her eyes over to him, in the dark the maroon was fairly bright. “Heard you were friends with the Pri- er, King, I guess.”

Prompto could hear the unspoken question, the glowing in his eyes that nobody else could see in the dark. “Yeah, we grew up together.”

Aranea’s face twitched, likely in surprise. “Growing up with Prince Charming? Ouch, must have been rough.”

_ That must have been very difficult. _

“Not really.” Prompto shrugged, crossing his arms and closing his eyes, “we played at the arcade a lot.”

“Arcade huh? I was never much for shooting things.”

Prompto didn’t respond.

* * *

They lost Aranea, and gained Gladio again.

The sunshine was making Prompto’s skin curl around the edges, rise like burning parchment. Noct gave him potions to try and fix the worst of the damage, the tops of his shoulders where bubbles filled with yellow fluid gathered like rain drops. He scratched at them absentmindedly, skin pulling away under sharp nails leaving his shoulders sticky and wet.

“Dude, you need to cut it out.” Noct winced, dribbling the glowing magic over his shoulders, working the remedy into the torn skin with gentle fingers. “Can I ice it for you?”

“Uh, sure.” Prompto smiled awkwardly, instantly sighing in bliss as Noct’s hands covered in frost and pressed against the pink skin.

“We should get you a jacket.” Noct frowned, rubbing the ice carefully over his shoulders, “have you been picking at your neck?”

Prompto twitched, “uh, I don’t think so?”

Noct scratched at something, small and hard just by Prompto’s hairline. “You have a scab. Did you get hit in the head at all?”

“Nah, likely just from camping on rocks.” Prompto assured him, “you need to convince Iggy to get us a hotel room somewhere!”

Noct laughed, then retreated to his camping chair to pester Gladio over his newest novel.

Prompto traced the scab Noct had mentioned. He plucked it with fingernails, feeling skin tear as it pulled away. As long as his pinky nail, black and covered in something dark and wet.

He watched as it melted into miasma, and vanished in the night.

* * *

He couldn’t sleep.

He couldn’t sleep and his  _ bones hurt  _ and everything ached.

His hair hurt, or rather his skull did. The small spots, the lumps of hardened black were so common, he gouged his skull until he bled and even then it was  _ black and wrong. _

He could hear the demons, scuttling outside the Haven. He could hear them whispering, wondering and asking questions. He could  _ see them,  _ within sight with purple smoke and long hungry faces. They were whispering, they were whispering to him.

_ I was made to be a monster. _

Prompto wanted to take Ignis’ dagger and  _ cut off the code on his arm. _

No, no that wouldn’t be enough. He had cut it before, and it would always grow back. He… he hadn’t ever burned it before.

Could he burn it away? Sear it with fire until it smelled like the Garula steaks Iggy made and peeled away from bone. Would it work?

(He thought that it would be worth it, he  _ knew  _ it would be worth it.)

_ “It smells like us it is us.”  _ something whispered, scuttling closer from the shadows of the trees, eyes piercing on the other side of the haven. Prompto’s skin burned, like nettle all over his flesh.

_ “How get inside?”  _ it seemed to whisper, another one drawing closer. Prompto whimpered and curled in further on himself.

His bones hurt  _ everything hurt. _

_ “Let us inside?” _

_ “How inside?” _

_ “Very hungry let us in.” _

“Shut up!” Prompto  _ screamed.  _ He burrowed his face further into his legs, recognizing that he was crying which was completely  _ ridiculous. _

The tent opened behind him, he was barely aware. There was a shout, but it felt so far away. The daemons were screaming, angry and being repelled by something bright, metal biting through air.

_ “No! Help!” _

_ “Help us stop it!” _

_ “Hungry! Kill it!” _

“Shut up!” Prompto shouted again, keeping his eyes shut and his hands curled into his scalp over his ears, “Go  _ away!” _

Hands gently pried his nails from his skin, holding them with gentle caution.

Somebody whispered his name, holding him carefully and wrapping something around his neck- oh, he was bleeding. He was shaking too, curled as small as a newborn chocobo.

Prompto opened his eyes, all three of his friends huddled around him at  _ astrals knows how early. _

“Guys,” Prompto whispered, voice broken and heavy in the night, “guys I think there’s something wrong with me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where things escalate

When Prompto was young, he had always lived alone.

His parents were nice, but they weren’t really... _ parents. _

They came in the night, flickering on lights and talking to each other exhaustedly over cups of Ebony. The clatter of cheap mugs, of discount silverware with the spoons that didn’t match.

Prompto was twelve when they started staying away even longer, gone in the mornings and never returning even when he stayed awake all night. It took him awhile to realize it.

In truth he hadn’t thought more of it. They were his parents, but they weren’t family. They looked nothing like him. 

(They left him coins and money, crumpled on the kitchen table. Enough to keep him fed, enough to gorge on cheap burgers and grease and hope it would fill the  _ ravenous pit. _ )

He was always so hungry, so hollow inside and itching in his skin. His clothes would rub wrong against his sunburns, his sweat would sting- the wristband moved and moved until the scabs broke and bled anew. 

But he was hungry,  _ hungry,  _ because if not hunger what  _ else  _ could that gaping hole inside him be? The crevice down the back of his throat that descended down and  _ down  _ until even Prompto thought it wouldn’t end. He felt like no matter how many burgers and fries and chips and shakes he would  _ never be full. _

Prompto ate and ate and gorged and gorged and he was so  _ hungry and it hurt  _ and-

* * *

Prompto curled up, tucking his head into the oversized sweatshirt that practically draped around his body. The fire crackled, unnecessary heat in the daylight. Something hissed, eggs frying in thin savory oil.

A tweezer and comb gently shifted his hair aside, trailing gently over his scalp before it ultimately hit a bump. A pause, the slightest bit of hesitation before the tweezers tugged smoothly and mercilessly on his skin. It hurt, but in an abstract way like how Prompto knew the ocean was blue.

“There,” Ignis paused a split second, moving slightly before a small  _ clink  _ sounded. Muffled, the keratinized black ooze clattering with the other pieces. “That’s the last of them.”

The other two were watching quietly, buzzing with worry yet rational enough that charging Prompto in such a state wouldn’t be good.

“And that’s what’s coming out?” Gladio asked, jerking his head towards the white cloth, a handkerchief now soiled with what looked like small spots of oil. “You sure?”

“Quite positive.” Ignis clipped back, cleaning up the mess that had gathered around Prompto- the various medical tools and supplies that they ended up not needing. The black lumps slid out of his skin easy, like popping a zit. 

Noct hadn’t said anything, instead he curled himself up tighter on the folding chairs. He was small, a shapeless lump that practically radiated self-loathing and guilt.

“Well, now all we need to wonder is what is it.” Gladio grunted, flopping into a chair without displaying much concern, “a status ailment?”

“Antidote didn’t have any effect,” Ignis sighed in response, looking composed. (Under that, Prompto could tell the man was fretting.) “Neither did our other remedies.”

“We need to go to a hospital.” Noct spoke, voice deadpan although it warbled towards the end.

“With something like  _ this?”  _ Gladio huffed, running one hand through his hair, “yeah, can’t imagine  _ that  _ going well.”

Noct curled in on himself further, Prompto closed his eyes and said nothing.

“I don’t know how this…” Ignis trailed off, the unspoken word hanging in the air heavily, “...this  _ ailment  _ spreads. It may be wise to assume we are all carriers, or affected.”

Prompto flinched sharply, “y’ aren't.” Prompto slurred into the sleeve of the borrowed sweatshirt, “y’don’t have it.”

Ignis looked down sharply at the mess of blonde hair surrounded by black cloth, “I must ask you to speak up.”

Prompto slowly lifted his head, staring at the fire and clenching his jaw to hide the tremors running through his bones. “...Y-You don’t have it.”

Noct pulled his head up at Prompto’s words. The prince looked angry, resigned and furious as his nostrils flared. 

“When did this start?” Ignis asked, voice crisp and clipped. 

Prompto twitched, wanting more than anything to sneak off into the forest, to hide away.

( _ ‘Maybe if I’m lucky, they’ll leave me behind. There’s no place for a monster here.’ _ )

“A-after we left,” Prompto’s voice wavered, and much to his horror he felt his eyes already welling with tears. He burrows his face down, trying to keep the group from seeing.

(They could see his shoulders shaking, and the way his hands were pale with how strongly they clutched his legs.)

“The wall,” Noct spoke brokenly. “Once we left the wall.”

Ignis cursed lowly under his breath, “we must have tolerance, or are not susceptible due to our proximity to the crystal.”

Gladio grimaced, looking down at his hands in wordless frustration.

“So, what now?” Noctis asked. “What do we  _ do?” _

“Perhaps the Lady Lunafreya may be able to reverse this.” Ignis gave a small shrug, looking for once, entirely helpless in the current situation.

Luna, Prompto hadn’t even thought about Luna.

He didn’t want her to see him like this- he couldn’t  _ live  _ with her seeing him like this.

(He, who she tasked him with being Noct’s friend, who left him a letter smelling so strong of perfume it filled the stagnant empty air of his house.)

He couldn’t tell them, but he couldn’t let them think it was much worse. It wasn’t- it wasn’t bad. It was- ( _ only a monster, only a monster bred and raised to murder you) _ only a tiny thing.

“It’s fine, guys.” Prompto winced out, forcing his arms to stretch out as if he had just woken up. “It isn’t-”  _ I’m not a person, I’m not a human,  _ “-a problem.”

Ignis looked at him searchingly, frowning when he saw nothing. “Still, I’d prefer you tell us of all ailments this time. Why were you screaming so early?”

_ I hear them, they whisper to me. They want in, they want to eat you. _

_ Will that fill it? Will that fill the void? _

“Er, I uh,” Prompto weakly beckoned outside the runestones, “I heard some daemons.”

“What, don’t tell me you’re scared now.” Gladio huffed, teasing in a way if only to break the atmosphere.

Prompto licked his lip anxiously, head buzzing in concern as he felt his heart pound. 

_ Tell them? Tell them I hear the voices? That they want inside? That they’re so hungry? _

“I just…” Prompto trailed off, ducking his head back down to rest his chin on his clothed arm, “They freaked me out.”

“As you have any right to.” Ignis assured him, glancing out of his corner of his eye towards Gladio, “Gladio, perhaps you have other garments Prompto may borrow?’

Noct clued in faster than his shield did. “The sunburns.”

Ignis gave the smallest of nods, “My thoughts exactly. It may be best to keep Prompto out of direct sunlight, or invest in a hat.”

“No way, Iggy.” Prompto defended weakly, “My hair is perfect the way it is.”

That at least, gave Noct a small smile.

* * *

 

“That Aranea, a little different, isn’t she?”

“She certainly doesn’t fit with the image of the imperial army.”

* * *

 

The sun was brighter on the way to Cape Caem, burning overhead and heating the seats until flesh and leather became one.

Everyone was smiling, laughing and joking. Even Noct was awake for once, sitting high on the back seat while the wind ran through his hair and over his skin. Prompto joined in the conversation, poking fun at Gladio’s most recent romance novel. It seemed the man had grabbed a whole new assortment of crappy books when he was gone.

The sun burned, it ached in a way like how a sore tooth did. It was  _ hot,  _ Prompto bundled in an oversized jacket, zipped to his neck and now drenched in sweat.

Prompto didn’t care, he’d prefer being overheating to comfortably cold. 

They didn’t drive long before the sunshine demanded they take a break, pulling to the side of a road to enjoy the seaside breeze. Prompto barely paid attention, eying the sunlight as if it was something holy.

Would they stop him if he was to remove the borrowed jacket, if he were to shed his shirt and stand under the light and burn and  _ bubble _ and-

“Prom!” Noct shouted, looking positively delighted as somewhere in the distance, a grouping of rocks looked like a makeshift dock, “come on!”

“Don’t go too far!” Ignis shouted back, smiling slightly at the usual display.

They of course, went too far.

* * *

 

The ocean was soothing, the rhythmic push and pull of the waves over stones and sand. Prompto had settled himself instantly, wishing he had sunglasses as the glare off water burned through his eyes into his skull.

Noct of course, was overjoyed and far too delighted to cast again and again, spitting out insults and jabs as his lure was taken and dropped immediately.

“You keep that trash talk up,” Prompto gave a lazy thumb up, “It’s only my love for you bro, which is keeping me from making a fish pun.”

“Don’t give Iggy ideas,” Noct grunted, face twitching as once again the fish (freakishly smart fish in Prompto’s opinion) didn’t go for it.

Noct had one  _ finally,  _ and with his desperate reeling he was shouting a combination of insults that countered their High School video game nights. Noct finally pulled it up, grinning while looping one thumb through its slimy lip.

Then, the fish jerked twice and marvelously escaped, splashing into the water.

“ _ No,”  _ Noct gasped in horror, looking absolutely devastated.

Prompto snatched a picture, or two.

“No,” Noct growled, jaw locking as he spotted the fish, watching him from only a few feet below the surface. Mocking him, as if it hadn’t already taunted him for hours.

A spear formed in a shower of blue sparks, held in a steady hand.

“Oh man,” Prompto breathed, raising his camera to get a shot. “Noct versus a fish, place your bets now, ladies and gentlemen.”

(The fish won)

* * *

 

They started hiking back when the sun started lowering, the sand absorbing the warmth while the air cooled soothingly.

Prompto sighed in relief, stripping himself from the soggy sweatshirt and stretching in the air. Noct wrinkled his nose, it was obvious the smell of his sweat started to clog the air. 

They started hiking back slowly, dusk a soothing balm against Prompto’s headache. Something rustled, scuttling against the sand and waves.

“Wait,” Prompto swung his hand out, grabbing onto Noct’s shoulder as he scanned around, squinting towards the water, “whoa, I think we just found dinner for Iggy.”

Noct blinked in confusion, squinting as he tried to see where the water and sand met. He was quiet, yet his breaths were startlingly loud in Prompto’s ears.

“I don’t see anything,” Noct murmured back, hand splayed by his side, ready to summon something from his armiger.

“I think it’s a Karlabos, it’s  _ huge.” _

“Perfect.” Noct nodded, and without hesitation his sword manifested. Prompto followed in cue, his gun a cold but welcome weight in his palm.

_ I could pull the trigger now- _

“It’s just over there, coming out of the water. I think it’s alone.”

Noct shook his head slightly, “I can’t see it. Once Iggy and Gladio hear your gun they’ll come help. Think it’ll be finished by then?”

Prompto worried his bottom lip, “It’s like... _ really  _ big. Does your armiger work as a freezer?”

Noct shrugged, but with no hesitation started striding across the sand.

“Fine, fine!” Prompto threw his hands up in the air, the safety of his gun on, “I’ll give you an opening! I guess!”

Noct grinned over his shoulder but didn’t say anything.

Prompto lined up the shot, pausing to let his eyes focus to better clarity. Hyperaware, hyper focused.

The ocean waves were  _ loud,  _ ringing loud and clear in a way he could almost  _ see.  _ He could hear Noct’s footsteps, disrupting peaks of sand and cracking the smallest of twigs. He could hear the slide of shell over shell, the membrane on the crustacean’s gills flaring twice.

He aimed, and shot.

* * *

 

The armiger did  _ not  _ work as a freezer, so now he and Noct were left with a predicament.

“We could…” Noct paused, shifting from one foot to the other with uncertainty. “We could chop it in half? And carry it in pieces?”

Prompto snorted, the dead beast was  _ massive  _ already. “Can’t you like, text Gladio to come and get this?”

Noct waved his phone pointedly- they had no signal. “What about Chocobos?”

“ _ What  _ Chocobos?” Prompto whined, “dude, our rental ran out like,  _ days  _ ago!”

Noct huffed, and prodded the dead giant lobster creature with the tip of his sword. “Well...isn’t the tail the best part?”

“The tail is as big as  _ me.” _

Noct huffed again and this time, plopped to the ground next to the giant crustacean. 

Prompto reached out and poked it, keeping well away from the cracked portions where his bullets managed to kill it finally. Its hard coat was eerily reminiscent of something, the texture and the slight shell-like exterior.

“We can’t just leave it here.” Noct pouted, looking at the overgrown delicacy. “We have to drag it back.”

Prompto groaned, but obligingly got to his feet. Noct scowled down at the hunk of meat, summoning two spears from the armiger before fumbling with a large supply of camping rope.

Prompto tried not to laugh as Noct fumbled with the thick coils, “Here, gimmie.”

Prompto made quick work of the rope, securing the coils around the upper half of the beast and around its open claws, from there he tied it to the spears, a makeshift way to drag it.

“Should we gut it?” Noct asked, looking at it unsure. 

“Do  _ you  _ know how to gut things?”

“Astrals no, that’s why we brought Gladio.”

“I thought he was supposed to be the muscle.”

“And the eye candy, unlike you.”

“ _ Hey!”  _ Prompto pouted, scowling as he grabbed his spear and  _ pulled. _

They groaned in que, kicking sand as inch by inch, they made their way back towards the road.

The sun had fully set at this point, bathing them all in darkness. Noct fumbled once or twice, kicking rocks or stepping on shifting logs.

“Here uh,” Prompto felt something twist in his gut, “I’ll lead, I can see better.”

Noct stilled a half second, but grudgingly fell in line behind Prompto, letting the blonde lead them on a safer path over the boulders.

The forest was  _ alive  _ with sounds, insects buzzing, the ocean so far behind them. Every panting breath from Noct was practically the Regalia’s engine.

Something scattered free, the wild birds hopping from branch to branch. Under that, Prompto could hear the low scuttling of something on the prowl, a low gurgling hiss of something diseased.

“Hey,” Prompto breathed low, drawing Noct’s attention quickly. 

“ _ What?”  _ Noct groaned, clearly exhausted from dragging, “Please tell me we’re close.”

“Oh,” Prompto blinked, “you know, I think we are. Over that ridge I think and we’re there, then Gladio can try to tie this thing to the Regalia and we’ll meet up with Iris.”

“Sweet,” Noct breathed, resting his forehead on his arms. 

The low gurgling, the whispers in the night were stronger, they could likely smell the corpse they were dragging. Prompto stared past, looking between the trees for whatever it was. He already suspected it to be a Flan, they sounded similar.

“Prom?”

“Yeah?’ Prompto snapped his attention back to Noct, who seemed to realize something was wrong.

“...you okay?”

Prompto smiled, flashing a thumb up before he began dragging again.

* * *

Ignis was torn between resigned, and delighted with the Karlabos. On the side of the road, the advisor used his daggers to clean it faster than a five-star chef. He barely blinked, and somehow managed to remain clean despite hoisting out crustacean organs onto pavement.

“Looks like this is your job now, kid.” Gladio stepped back, already working to tie the salvageable meat to the car in a makeshift net. Noct of course, had passed out in the backseat. 

The organs were slimy, vaguely yellowish. Prompto groaned.

Prompto started off with the guts (in a sack thankfully) through the woods, trudging over sticks and around holes in the ground.

He could hear the whispers, closer and more curious. Different this time.

“What?” Prompto snapped, feeling itchy and anxious, “what do you all  _ want?” _

He couldn’t see them, but he could hear them. Scuttling over the ground, crawling under the trees towards him, and the scent of food.

_ “Food?”  _ Something asked hopefully, so painfully hopeful. It scuttled free, a misshapen form of what looked like a spider, distorted as if not quite settled in a new body.

“Yes, food.” Prompto clipped out sourly, “so, uh, take this back to your weird creepy friends and uh, leave us alone please?”

Something else scuttled out in the dark, eyes glowing freakishly as its hunkered body could have been mistaken for a small child, if not for the garish proportions. Prompto hadn’t counted on  _ more  _ showing up.

_ “Food!”  _ The newest one snapped, claws curling and flexing as it looked on verge of manic cackling. Still, better an imp than the freakishly fast Tonberries in Prompto’s mind.

“Yes, uh, like I was telling Mr. Spider over there, you can have  _ this- _ ” Prompto jolted the bag for emphasis, “if you and your buddies leave  _ my  _ buddies,  _ alone.” _

They didn’t seem to understand, although circled closer with eyes on the sack.

Prompto licked his lips anxiously, paranoia stirring in his mind.

It was impossible that the others would have followed him, he would have heard them no matter how quiet they were. They wouldn’t know if he just…. if he... _ tried  _ to talk to them, would they?

_ (Talk to your own kind, talk to other mindless monsters. Right where you belong.) _

Prompto resisted the urge to vomit, and swallowed twice, jerking his chin out and accidentally triggering his gag reflex. The two daemons looked at him, not impressed.

They hadn’t attacked him, so that was a good sign.

“I-” Prompto nearly gagged, something foreign flexing in his throat like a squirming insect, “I-  _ c-can you hear me?” _

The spider like creature stumbled back two steps, raising its front claws/legs above its head in surprise, as if throwing both arms into the air in delight. The imp looked decidedly more unsure, skittering backwards timidly. They were both still visible, half hidden by overgrown shrubbery between the trees.

Prompto felt uneasy, high stomach twisting in revulsion of the act.  _ “I- If I give you this food, can you stay away from me and my friends?” _

The imp stuck its head out, squinting and swiping at the air cautiously,  _ “Give food?” _

Prompto licked his lips again, his throat sour and his nose burning. “You won’t follow me or my friends.” 

The two stared at him, dazed and confused.

_ “Y-you won’t follow my friends.”  _ Prompto gagged out, hands shaking as the spider started rapidly waving its legs. It didn’t even stay, it took off in a sharp scuttle into the trees and out of sight.

The imp wavered, looking at the sack with a relatively ravenous expression.

_ “Hungry,”  _ it mewled, clawing at the air with a childish unabandoned want. 

_ “Will you leave my friends alone?” _

The imp nodded jerkily,  _ “Yes, yes, will pass word. Not attack, give food?” _

_ “Here,”  _ Prompto blurted, feeling like he had tasted something rotten. He tossed the (quite large) sack over to the ground. Dark maroon liver spilled out, already fouling the air with the uniquely entrails’ smell. The imp cackled, leaping at it with delight.

Prompto slowly walked backwards, nearly  _ tripping  _ over another imp which appeared out of the gloom with surprising speed. It paid no mind to him, joining its fellow daemon with reckless abandon.

Nothing followed him back to the car, Gladio giving him a small wave from the backseat. The headlights were on bright, illuminating the road ahead of them.

“Sorry about that, guys.” Prompto breathed, leaping over the car door to flop into the front seat. He ignored the way Ignis frowned, he  _ always  _ climbed into the car like that.

“Is your voice hoarse?” Ignis asked with a small twist to his lips, “I do not believe it was like that prior.”

“Oh!” Prompto breathed in surprise, mind scraping to come up with a viable excuse, “I er, I ran a ways in there, you know, get those guts away from us!”

Gladio huffed from the back, “Didn’t mean you had to  _ run.” _

Prompto just laughed awkwardly. He was happy it was dark enough they couldn’t see how he was shaking.

* * *

 

He couldn’t get the strange tameness of the imp out of his head.

Were they only hungry?

( _ I’m so, so hungry. _ )

* * *

The house was small, or at least small to the others. To Prompto it reminded him of the comforts of his old house. Where furniture was worn in, floorboards faded where the sun came in from the windows, small scrapes on the tabletops where someone was sloppy with a fork. It was like home, and it stung all the same because of that.

(It was empty, just like his old house had been.)

Iris was nice, a welcome relief with her humor and bubbling excitement which contrasted sharply with Gladio’s gruffness. Talcott was there as well, young and naive and it  _ stung  _ to see him sloppily swinging a sword under the careful eye of the one Crownsguard. Prompto didn’t know her well, he barely remembered what it was like before Insomnia fell.

(That was a lie. He remembered it far too well. He remembered it and it hurt because before Insomnia fell, he didn’t have  _ this. _ )

Was it wrong to  _ like  _ the fact Insomnia had fallen? Not in the obvious way, or the cruelty and casualties that have fallen after. Was it  _ wrong  _ to like the fact Prompto knew he had a (dare he say it?)  _ family? _

No, he couldn’t ever consider it that. Even now, under the wooden roofing of something old and homey and domestic, he could never consider it family.

( _ Monster’s aren’t allowed to have families, Prompto. Did you forget that already?) _

His wrist  _ itched. _

* * *

“Why aren’t you out there?” Iris pouted, leaning over the back-porch railing as the other three dug in the dirt, mud and rocks caked under their nails. Iggy was smart enough to remove his gloves, although one had been thrown at Noct when the Prince began complaining about vegetables.

“Oh, ah, you know.” Prompto grinned unsure, the corners of it shaking with worry, “Ah, I’m more of the eye candy on the team!”

Gladio snorted, “You wish, Chocobo-butt.”

Iris giggled, although didn’t pay any mind to her brother. “I don’t mind it, I thought you’d like growing things! Maybe after this you can grow those herbs Chocobos like so much!”

Prompto wilted under the younger girl’s energetic smile, “Oh  _ no, guys,  _ who told her about the Chocobos?”

Noct lifted his head, face twisted into an innocently guilty expression. Gladio just snickered.

“Noct!” Prompto whined, hanging his head dramatically as Iris giggled, even Ignis cracked a small smile.

The back door opened behind the two. Iris rolled over, flopping onto her back to look at the doorway. “Oh! Hi Cor!” 

Prompto gave a small screech of alarm, scrambling to try and right himself, “M-Marshal!” 

Cor’s face was stony, although he did have the smallest fraction of amusement in his eye seeing Noct elbow deep in mud and Prompt scrambling on the porch at his feet. “Highness.”

Noct gave a lazy wave, accidently flinging dirt at Gladio who paused a split second before tackling the Prince to the ground.

“I see I’m going to have to find you all spare clothes.” Cor sighed under his breath, looking exhausted but then again, everyone was exhausted now.

“I- I can help wash them, sir!” Prompto squeaked, feeling his blood  _ freeze  _ as the Marshal’s eyes locked on his smaller form.

Cor stared at him in a way which made Prompto’s breathing hitch, as if he could see straight  _ through  _ him. It was terrifying, and humbling in a way Prompto couldn’t explain.

_ ‘He could kill me this very second,’  _ Prompto realized with a calming serenity,  _ ‘He would slit my throat without blinking.’ _

Somehow, that reassured Prompto.

“That would be helpful, but only after lunch.” Cor jerked his head inside towards the table, “would you mind setting the table?

“Sure!” Prompto squeaked, leaping to his feet and darting inside the screen door. It banged shut behind him, bouncing twice before resting.

They were silent as Prompto fiddled with the cutlery, nearly dropping the forks and clinking knives together.

Prompto felt a pang of nerves, worrying himself over the proper placement of the spoons- which side was it again? Were the knives on the inside or the out?

“You’re nervous around me.” Cor spoke suddenly, causing Prompto to jerk his hand and nearly toss a fork.

“Er- yeah, sorry...sir!” Prompto hastily added in, uncomfortably chuckling and wincing back as the man approached him from around the table.

He must have seen something, his expression darkened and he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. Prompto’s pulse thrummed in his neck. 

“Right.” Cor nodded as if that was enough. “Get the others.”

* * *

 

Cor has asked Prompto to help with the night watch, mentioning a gunner’s eye could be valuable even while marginally protected.

Prompto didn’t hear any whispers, or see any movement in the dark. He did see Cor watching him from across the porch. Prompto had goosebumps across his skin, hair sticking up in the air.

(It didn’t seem to ever lay flat anymore.)

* * *

 

Prompto dug out the keratinized lumps, pinching them between sharp nails and slowly dragging them out of his skin. They were larger, disfigured in shape but without question, larger.

He dropped them one by one into the sink. It  _ clinked  _ against the white porcelain, melting into black and dripping into the drain.

He picked and picked until his fingertips were black. His nails were getting long again. He’d have to chop them off soon.

* * *

Of all the ways to go down, Prompto had never imagined it being with his face pressed against dirt.

His arm was behind his bag, yanked in a restraining grip by Gladio who by all means was expecting an easy pin. Everyone was expecting an easy pin, even  _ Prompto  _ was expecting an easy pin.

“Call it.” Gladio huffed out, a small lilt of amusement in his voice as Prompto squirmed into the grass. “C’mon Blondie.”

At some point, the pin had been painful. Back in training yards, practices and squabbles. He would yelp and his body would follow at the maximum range of motion he had achieved.

Now, he wasn’t there. Gladio wasn’t pinning him, and without thinking he twisted his elbow behind his back, bent it the other way, and jerked his wrist up to scour along Gladio’s arm.

“Shit!” Gladio hissed out, practically leaping away from Prompto as he clutched his bicep with thick fingers. Prompto scampered up, words heavy on his tongue as he saw the blood drool down Gladio’s skin.

His elbow was backwards, bending toward his jaw instead of towards his hip. It looked wrong, grotesque in a way that screamed  _ broken! _

Prompto bent his elbow back the proper way- nothing cracked.

Cor appeared a second later, watching everything with a cold calculating look in his eye.

“Damn,” Gladio grunted, pulling his hand away to observe the four tears cutting through his skin and fairly deep into his muscle. “How-”

“I’m sorry!” Prompto squeaked out, feeling tears welling in his eyes, “I- I didn’t mean to-”

Gladio was staring at him, everyone was staring at him.

“Prom-” Noct began, jolting in surprise when Ignis reached out, grasping the prince’s shoulder to keep him in place. Ignis’ other hand had a dagger.

Prompto started crying for real.

* * *

His hip bones felt sharper.

He was so, so hungry.

* * *

They thought he couldn’t hear, that they were safe in the early mornings.

It was a bit difficult to hear over Noct’s snores, across the room from his sprawled form. The vents carried sound, vibrating with the deep bass of Cor and Gladio.

“.... Starscourge…. kill him…”

“.... understand…”

_ I’m a monster, a monster. _

Prompto buried himself deeper into the blankets, and pretended he didn’t care.


End file.
